Perdition Lost
by little1lost
Summary: The war is almost over. To secure their victory, Soul Society plans to close the entrance to Hueco Mundo, and banish anyone who is not pure shinigami to spend eternity there. Urahara Kisuke, Hirako Shinji, Kurosaki Ichigo, and their companions must learn to coexist with their enemies- including a pensive Ulquiorra and a blood-thirsty Grimmjow- while they try to survive each other
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Bleach or any of the characters therein, and I make no money from this story.

SPOILERS: Until/around Episode 278/Chapter 364. (This was started quite a while back, and takes place in a sort of Alternate Reality which diverges from the end of the Winter War, where Aizen was pushed back instead of winning. As such, there are some minor differences that either result from me taking liberty with the storyline or from the fact that I've been writing this baby on and off for several years now.)

SUMMARY: The war is almost over. To secure their victory, Soul Society plans to close the entrance to Hueco Mundo, and banish anyone who is not pure shinigami to spend eternity there. Urahara Kisuke, Hirako Shinji, Kurosaki Ichigo, and their companions must learn to coexist with their enemies (including a pensive Ulquiorra and a blood-thirsty Grimmjow) while they try to survive each other. Urahara/Shinji, Urahara/Ichigo, Grimmjow/Ichigo, Ulquiorra/Ichigo, Ulquiorra/Grimmjow, and counting.

WARNINGS: This is a still-in-progress yaoi/BL fanfiction, though I am going to do my best to censor out all explicit content from it's original version. If, however, you don't like slash/yaoi, this is not the story for you. Also, there will be a fair amount of swinging and/or polyamory in this fic (which includes individuals engaging emotionally and/or physically with more than one other person). I am also including warnings for situations of dubious or lacking consent, though it will also be edited for explicit material. Also, there will be suggestions of het relationships, as well as femslash. This is not likely to appeal to the crowd who wants to read only fluff... although I do hope there will be plenty of nice moments in there! I will include more specific warnings as the story continues. If anyone feels that there is any other pertinent information they would like to know/feel that I have left out in error, please let know and I will do my best to rectify the problem.

Other than that... Enjoy, and let me know what you think! :)

* * *

_The Human World, One Hundred Years Ago…_

He looked so forlorn, there, his face haloed in the moonlight. The man's darkly-clothed form leaned up against the skeleton of this incomplete human building; his shoulders drooped and his head hung limply onto his chest; pensive. Hopeless. Defeated. His body blended into the darkness; the moon highlighted only his silhouette as well as the shock of unruly, dirty-blond hair that looked the worse for wear after these past nights. Absently, the man ran one hand through those messy locks, only complicating the tattered nest further, before he was obviously overcome by some dark remembrance, and the hand tightened in his own hair, gripping so hard he looked as if he wished for nothing more than to tear his own hair out, his own mind, his own treacherous thoughts, and his body doubled over for a moment, overwhelmed with memories he could not change.

This man was broken.

And the vision he had stumbled upon made Hirako Shinji want to sob himself, the empathy he felt was so great. How… What…

Why did this happen to them? It didn't seem fair; it barely made any sense, and Shinji hid himself behind a half-completed wall, hid himself from the sight of his friend in so much pain. And from the confused circles his own mind ran in now, from the questions, now without an answer. Without an acceptable answer, anyhow.

Shinji slumped down on the uneven concrete, and buried his head in his hands. Though his eyes remained dry, he was mourning. Mourning for himself, for his compatriots- fuck- his friends who were even now trying to gain control of this monstrosity they had all become. They didn't deserve this. If they had done something, anything, to deserve this dark, uncertain fate, maybe it would have been just that little bit easier to accept.

Mostly, though, he mourned for Kisuke. Kisuke, who'd been framed for a terrible crime he hadn't committed. The only crime he was guilty of had been helping his friends. And, like them, he'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Fuck Soul Society. Shinji's wrath poured through him as he lifted his head in defiance.  
What fucking right did they have to make so harsh a judgment? Who the fuck were they to decide who got to live and who was killed? Hirako and his comrades were no threat to the order, to the true balance of things! That should have been obvious!

It wasn't fair!

And what the fuck were they all supposed to do now?

Shinji stood up and waited for a moment, just a moment longer. Time enough to let Kisuke recover himself. To regain some shred of dignity before his fragile mindset was exposed to the unforgiving night air. As much as Hirako knew that they were all utterly fucked, he would still never begrudge this other man his pride. Never. Everyone needed something to hold on to, something to prove that they were still alive.

Then Shinji stepped, his feet moving with deceiving lightness, over to where the other man still stood, framed by the eerie, foreign moonlight of the human world.

Kisuke heard him approach. Actually, he'd been aware of Shinji's presence the whole time, but he'd felt no urge to acknowledge it. There wasn't really anything to say at a time like this, besides the obvious platitudes, and they all felt the emptiness of such bolstering words. It was merely rubbing salt in a deathly wound.

Almost more painful than the wound itself. Almost.

The wind blew unnaturally cold, and as Kisuke turned toward his companion, it created an eerie sight; Shinji's stringy, long yellow hair whipped sideways across his face, obscuring his eyes and most of his expression. It gave Kisuke momentary pause, a subconscious pull from old habits which had yet to fully die. If Kisuke couldn't see the other man's eyes, how could he know if this was really his Shinji he was speaking to… or if the Hollow had taken over.

Kisuke's hand twitched toward the zanpakuto which swung at his hip; an imperceptible movement to most. But Shinji caught it, and Kisuke saw his face harden; his jaw set and he stared up at Kisuke through squinted eyes half-hidden beneath darkened brows. But the eyes were their usual color. No hint of the tell-tale black had drained into the white.

Though he would have never said it aloud, Kisuke wasn't sorry. They lived in a new kind of reality now, and this reality had rules which were decidedly harsher and crueler than the old. Nature of the beast, really. And if they didn't want to be devoured, they had to learn to adapt.

"Didn't mean to startle you," Shinji spoke easily, his voice deceivingly soft. But Kisuke knew that underneath the carefree exterior, his action had wounded the older man. Kisuke had spent too many hours with the other, too many hours picking up every nuance in that commanding voice, learning to read every expression that crossed that childish face whilst their bodies lay wrapped around each other on dark nights. Dark nights not so very unlike this one. Except the moon was not so large, and the wind did not bite so cold. And they weren't standing on foreign soil, outcasts, staring at each other over a vast emotional abyss that neither could ford.

But Kisuke was resolved. More resolved than he'd ever been in his few centuries of existence up to this point. He knew what was to be done, what moves to make, in order to ensure that this whole debacle did not end up at its logical conclusion. Revenge, yes, the sick taste of revenge hung off the tip of his tongue; and, oh, how he would enjoy the full experience of it. But this was about far more than that, far more. It was about doing what was necessary.

No matter whose happiness, whose very lives, would be sacrificed to achieve this goal.

"You didn't really startle me," he murmured back. "I was just in my own head."

Shinji gave a small, noncommittal sound and stalked closer. Only Kisuke would have noticed how Shinji kept a marked distance, as if the Vaizard was some feral predator attempting not to spook his prey.

Really, it was probably an accurate analogy, Kisuke thought.

The older man leaned up against the metal post opposite. "Hiyori is better. It seemed like just a temporary lapse. You don't have to worry about it, she's fine now." He refused to look at Kisuke as he said it. He didn't want to see Kisuke's humbled nod. He didn't want to see that wary look in his eyes again.

"I'm glad." He heard the young man sigh beside him. "I wish I could be more helpful. But I suppose that's your department now."

Shinji snorted. "I think you've been plenty helpful. We wouldn't still be here if not for you."

Kisuke said nothing in response, so they both stood silently, watching the moon in its exorable slide across the night sky.

"I know I've said it before, but… I can't really explain how grateful I am. For what you did for… us. For what you've had to sacrifice. I don't know what I could ever do to repay this, but-"

"Don't worry, I'm more than certain I can find a way for you to pay me back for this." And the former-shinigami's voice was warm and chiding. Shinji couldn't help himself from turning toward the other man who was staring straight at him with a small smile plastered across his long face. It wasn't the same smile that Shinji had spent hours staring at, marveling over. But it was the closest thing he'd seen in a while, and he couldn't help himself from shooting a lopsided grin back.

Or from propelling himself forward to mash their lips together with a sudden sense of mixed relief and desperation. Kisuke blinked in surprise at the sudden action, and how easy it was to accept a warm mouth overtop of his. The last time that their mouths had even touched had been weeks ago, when all of them had stumbled out of the entrance to Soul Society, and Kisuke had been cradling his lover's senseless body close, covering his face with sloppy affection which Shinji had been too out of it to really return the sentiment. The last real kiss had been earlier, before any of this had happened. Before Aizen.

Shinji hadn't realized how much he wanted this, how much it meant to him. How terrified he'd been when he and Kisuke had seemed to naturally fall into a pattern of sleeping apart. How scared he'd been to remember that they had barely touched since they'd landed in this godforsaken world.

How scared he was that when his lover looked at him, all that he saw was some filthy Hollow.

Kisuke returned the kiss at first, opening to feel Shinji's breath brush hotly through his own, felt the taller man's tongue plunge rigidly into his cavern to search his out. It was not the most pleasant kiss they'd ever had; Shinji was too desperate in his attempts, but the brief intimate moment they shared was certainly not taken for granted. Kisuke felt himself start to go under when Shinji's hands pawed beneath his clothing, and they pressed their lithe bodies together, each itching for the friction caused by the other's.

But too soon, Kisuke pulled away, and his hands were gently forcing Shinji back to his previous spot, forcing that distance to return between them.

Shinji would never have admitted it to anyone, never even whispered such thoughts to an incomprehensive sky. But he was wholly devastated.

He drew back, his eyes a little too wide, trying to gauge what went wrong, what brought this on. But Kisuke looked away, back out over the sprawling concrete wasteland they found themselves in, and spoke.

"I think we should separate."

Shinji stood stock-still, dumbfounded, and had Kisuke bothered to look, it would have been obvious from the way his mouth gaped and mouthed wordlessly. "What." It wasn't a question, really. More a statement, one which encompassed not only the horrible confusion of this moment, but of all the moments they'd experienced in the preceding month. Honestly, 'what' about summed it all up.

But Kisuke refused to look at him. "We should separate. All of us," he clarified carefully. "The Vaizards should go there own way, try to figure out what you're going to do now. I'll send Yoruichi on with you so we can keep in touch, and keep Tessai with me."

"Wha-"

"It'll be better this way. I have to start focusing on setting up a life for me and Tessai. And Yoruichi, if she really plans on staying away from Soul Society. We're going to have to blend in with the natives, as it were, if we want to have any semblance of… normalcy."

"And what about the others? What are they supposed to do?"

"I don't know."

"So why are we splitting up, exactly?"

"That's why. Because I don't know what to do with you. I helped you, healed you to the best of my ability. But I don't know what else to do with you, what else you need. I'm not a Hollow, how would I?"

This last remark had been a barb, thrown with the utmost premeditation. To catch Shinji off guard. To hurt him where it would cut the deepest.

Shinji's angry expression belied the betrayal which Urahara knew all too well was blistering within. "I see."

Kisuke couldn't help but feel his own small ache for the man he had once loved. For how horrifyingly nightmarish his life had become overnight.

But Kisuke had plans. Plans which did not include having a Hollowfied lover and babysitting other ex-shinigami. His expression set hard, and he looked Shinji square in the face. "It doesn't have to be forever. But I need time to plan, and space to think. And you need time to accept what you are, to adjust to what you've become. I'm sure that it will be awhile before we're all back to… our old selves, or new selves. Whatever the case may be. But I think that a time of adjustment is necessary."

Shinji was scowling, but hadn't said anything. It left one last bitter taste in Kisuke's mouth. For a fleeting moment, he wanted nothing more than to rush up to the lanky blonde, throw his arms around him and apologize profusely, tell him he hadn't meant a single word of it.

But the moment passed.

"I think I'll stick around here. Karakura Town seems to have enough Hollow activity that I can continue my research, without notice from Soul Society. But if I were to get noticed, it would certainly be better for you if I didn't know where you were. At least, until you all get strong enough to decide if that's a risk you really want to take."

Shinji's expression still hadn't changed, but his hair flowed back into his face, covering his eyes again.

"It's been a month, Hirako-san. It's about time we started making some decisions, don't you agree?"

Shinji winced at the use of his name. It wasn't that Kisuke hadn't always been formal with him, he had. But this time felt different, somehow. Perhaps, because this time, Kisuke's eyes had an odd glinting light in them. Perhaps it was because they were getting ready to say good-bye.

Fuck.

The worst thing was, although it wasn't exactly the most solid plan he'd ever heard, Kisuke was right. It had been a month of wandering around aimlessly, staring blankly at one another, wondering when they would wake from this nightmare. But they hadn't woken yet. It was time to start accepting the reality. No matter how much reality felt like some sort of horrible caricature of the life they'd once known.

And they owed him enough. If he wanted time and space, he'd get it. Shinji would make certain of that.

Which didn't mean that he couldn't read between the lines.

Shinji smiled, a small bitter smile, no teeth. Urahara knew, then, that he'd agreed. And this was it. Very possibly the last moment they would ever spend together, in this way. Perhaps ever spend together period. He cared. But he was also relieved.

Shinji pushed himself away from the metal beam he'd been leaning up against, and shuffled slowly over to the shorter man. He stared deep into those blue eyes for a moment, and Kisuke felt a momentary sense of loss, equal to that of his exile from the Soul Society. And it wasn't just Hirako. It was Hiyori. And Rose, and Love; all of them. Wow, that hit home, suddenly. He would be alone soon.

"I guess you'll need some time to plan where your going? Gather supplies and such."

Shinji grinned, and this time it was devilish and dark, and full of teeth. "There's nothing here we need to say good-bye to." And he gripped the back of Urahara's head, tilted it back, and lead him into a slow, sensual kiss. And then the flame of loss really started to lap at Kisuke's insides, and he returned the kiss, chastely but with passion.

It was Shinji who pulled away, his long hair catching on Kisuke's clothing for a moment.

"I'll just go scout on ahead. Tell the others to follow my reiatsu as soon as they can."

Of course, the bastard was making him tell the others. Because it had been his idea.

Their faces were still too close, Kisuke had decided. Shinji's long fingers still tickled the nape of his neck, and there was nowhere to look but into those beautiful, arrogant, accusatory eyes. Kisuke wasn't sure when he'd looped his hands around the Vaizard's makeshift shirt, but he found it hard to tug his rebellious arms away.

Shinji leaned forward, quickly, placing one last kiss on Kisuke's lips. And there wasn't enough emotion, and their lips were too chapped, and Kisuke barely had time to savor it before Shinji pulled back, stepped away from him.

"So long, Urahara."

And he sped off into the night.

* * *

_Somewhere in Hueco Mundo, Present Day…_

Ulquiorra was in pain. His face did not show it, but he was, nevertheless. Well, his face, as usual, never showed much of anything, so that in-and-of-itself was unremarkable.

What was remarkable was that he had a face at all. Even he was surprised. That Hollowfied Kurosaki Ichigo had practically demolished his body; and for the first time in his memory he had felt his life-force drain away. It had been shocking. Unbelievable.

It had been welcome.

Ulquiorra's consciousness had faded; he had watched his own form disintegrate to spirit particles. But alas, then, he had awoken. His body had been barely there, bits of himself pieced together haphazardly, and he had known despair.

He lay there, in the far-off sands of Hueco Mundo, as slowly, his form coalesced. Why? Was he really so utterly impervious to death?

Yes, he had mused to himself hopelessly. There was no relief. He would just have to let the pain progress until his body was whole again.

And then what?

He thought of many things, as he lay on the sands of the Hollow realm. He thought of his life, pre-Arrancar. He thought about being defeated by that young, ridiculous human. He thought of the other Arrancar in Las Noches. And of Aizen-sama. He thought of the ludicrous, idiotic Espada. Were they all dead? Had Kurosaki Ichigo defeated them all? He reminisced about the life he never mentioned, the life he was sure none of his brethren could relate to. His life as a human. But it was only a passing thought, really, and one he did not enjoy remembering, and so Ulquiorra quickly shut it out of his mind, and tried to focus on something closer to his present life.

He thought of Grimmjow Jeagerjacques. Kurosaki Ichigo had not killed Grimmjow. Why? Was the human just being weak and compassionate? Was he grateful that Grimmjow had saved him from Ulquiorra the first time? The Cuatra closed his eyes. Rivalry. Competition. Useless emotions. The strong always won. Why upset one's self over the inevitable?

He could just imagine Grimmjow pacing, somewhere in Las Noches, working himself into a frenzy over his recent defeat. Itching to get back in another fight with the human boy. Ulquiorra did not understand this. He had no such desire. If he and the boy met again in the future… It would simply be dealt with then.

He sighed, the ghost of a breath barely audible. Grimmjow. The greatest child out of all of the Espada.

Perhaps Kurosaki Ichigo had spared Grimmjow because the Sexta had brought him the woman?

The woman.

Ulquiorra blinked, a rare occurrence; and quite a feat with a half-formed face.

He felt very strange when he thought about her. She had gone on and on about the heart: Laughable. About being close with others, sharing hearts. Ridiculous.

But while he was "dying", it had seemed important. Who was he close to? Who would he be connected to, among the others left alive?

He thought about this for a very, very long time.

When his body had finished healing, and he felt strong again, Ulquiorra picked himself up slowly, making sure to rein in his reiatsu, so as not to deal with any unworthy trash.

He headed in the direction of Las Noches.

* * *

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

_The Human World, Present Day…_

"Where's Aizen!" Hirako screamed in fury, his short blonde hair whipping after the frantic spins of his head, searching, searching for any trace of that miserable fucking traitor still floating somewhere above the human town. But, alas, that maddening opponent seemed to have vanished in an instant, leaving Shinji crazed by fury and loss. Fuck! They hadn't gotten this close, this fucking close, just to lose the motherfucker again!

Rose was down, and Hiyori was bleeding everywhere, and some of the shinigami were still eyeing the Vaizard as if they were the enemy… Ignorant pricks. But the other shinigami, the smarter ones who'd realized that the Vaizard weren't exactly trying to take down any of their allies were mirroring Shinji. They craned their necks up, around, backwards. What was going on? Where had the enemy disappeared to?

Some of the others were taking advantage of the momentary lapse in the battle to tend wounded comrades, or simply to rest and catch their breath for a moment.

Shinji was not so stupid.

Aizen always had a plan. And it wasn't gonna be that easy to defeat him. So he shot up higher into the atmosphere, trying to catch an eagle's-eye view of their surroundings.

He scanned the horizon in all directions, before his slanted eyes opened dramatically.

"There!" he hollered, and somehow the sound of his shout carried above the riotous din. Dozens of heads turned in the direction he was pointing, shinigami and Vaizard; and all took in the sight. Of their enemies fleeing. They were running away.

"After them! We mustn't let them escape!" Yamamoto commanded, his loud voice cracking with age.

At that, every shinigami in eyesight shot toward the receding Arrancar, a swarm of angry, screaming, blood-thirsty figures in black.

Shinji cursed under his breath. With an apologetic glance back at his own people huddling around the fallen forms lying too still on the ground, he took off after them.

No one… No one else got him. Shinji would not let his traitorous former lieutenant fall on anyone's blade except his.

But as his lean, ruined form zipped through and then beyond the much slower shinigami, Hirako grit his teeth; his only and most important dream for the last century was slipping through his fingers.

Aizen was nowhere to be seen. The Espada and their weaker counterparts were shooting Cero after Cero back behind them, and Hirako dodged most of them within even blinking. And there, there were Tousen and the other one, the brat who'd grown up to be even more creepy-looking than he'd ever been as a kid. But still, among the half-masked enemy, no sign of the bastard.

FUCK!

Shinji felt the desperation well up inside his chest, clawing to get out, but he ignored his own ragged breathing, his eyes skimming back and forth over the fleeing crowd. He managed to take a few weaker ones out with some well-aimed swings of his blade, but derived no satisfaction from the action.

Where? Where the fuck was he!

He couldn't lose Aizen now! Not now, after Shinji had sacrificed so much just to face him again!

He passed Arrancar after Arrancar, and their eyes widened to see an enemy caught up to them so quickly. Angrily, desperately, they slashed at him, and quickened their pace.

Shinji was slowed somewhat by these spooked Hollows; thus, he tried to dispatch all of them quickly. But before he knew it, he was crowded around by more and more of them, all shooting off their Ceros in mass confusion, and slowing his progress even more.

So he shot himself upward and out, away from the stampeding herd of Hollows, watching through slitted lids as their white jackets flowed out behind them, in stark contrast to the black-clothed horde which followed tirelessly. Shinji sank to one knee in midair, resting the weight of his torso on that left leg, still gripping his zanpakuto tightly, teeth grit through his impotence.

As his eyes scanned the atmosphere, he noticed- there- it was opening from the outside, the gateway between the two realms. The huge crack appeared in the side of the universe, and from the yawning blackness a gaggle of monstrously large Hollows appeared. Menos Grande; the big dumb things weren't much of a challenge to most of the people fighting here, but it would be an annoyance, nonetheless. Had they been sent, or…?

No, the stupid beasts had likely just been drawn by the free-flowing energy criss-crossing all over this small section of the human world. Fuck, this could create enough confusion that it would be almost impossible to pinpoint Aizen now!

Except…

Except the Menos weren't welcome reinforcements, apparently.

No. They were mostly ignored. While the Espada and their lucky companions were diving around the oversized bodies of their un-evolved cousins.

Oh, shit. The path to Hueco Mundo had been closed for days. But… apparently now that the Hollows looked to be losing the war, they were really and truly retreating, their reiatsu drained and their armies broken.

They were getting away.

Shinji let out a roar of ineffectual anger, but as he dashed forward, it was already too late. The Menos were confused by the apparent anarchy they'd somehow winded up in the middle of, crowded clumsily around the large rip, which was closing rapidly even as Hirako flash-stepped as quickly as he possibly could. What Arrancar and other lower-level Hollows hadn't passed through already were acting almost as frantic as Shinji felt, and with an anticlimactic void of aural finality, the tear in the air mended itself, as if it had never been there.

And in an uncharacteristic display of lost control, now Shinji couldn't hold back the scream, a primal, broken sound of rage and loss; and he plunged back into the thick of the remaining Menos and unloaded his fury onto the terrified Hollows who had the distinct misfortune of being expendable.

* * *

_The Human World, Six Months Later…_

Ichigo let loose a deep-chested battle cry as he swung his massive blade down into the head of the numberless Arrancar storming through Karakura Town. The creature, a large-breasted, half-formed humanoid shrieked at him in fury, face inches from his own, as her form disintegrated into a million tiny pieces of light. They floated away serenely, almost as if they had never been there, and Ichigo was left with silence, the sort of quiet that sat unnervingly upon his bones, as if the danger had only passed for a moment and a more ominous threat would emerge to take its place.

In Ichigo's line of work, that wasn't very far from the truth, especially now. The Hollows would never stop coming, never stop attacking. He could never truly be rid of them; his mission was never complete. He would always be waiting and wondering. Would he be in class the next time his Hollow detector went off? At home with Karin and Yuzu, leaping up from the dinner table with no time for an apology, ignoring the way Yuzu's smile slipped and Karin's eyebrows hitched closer together in worried disapproval?

Ichigo let out a heavy sigh and swiped the sweat from his brow. It shouldn't have been that difficult for him to kill the thing. It wasn't really. He just… hadn't really felt like going all out on his opponents lately. After what had happened in Hueco Mundo, he didn't feel like trusting himself anymore. He couldn't be sure that what had happened there… What had happened to Ishida, wouldn't ever happen again.

He slung Zangetsu onto his back, and leapt from the top of the building down to the ground, taking off in the direction of Urahara's shop. He didn't much feel like going home, but he honestly couldn't think of where else to go. Hopefully, there wouldn't be any other shinigami around. He didn't particularly feel like company tonight.

* * *

The shop, unfortunately, was pretty much filled to the brim. Shinigami of all ranks were milling in and out, exchanging news about their battles today, training in the basement, laughing in the kitchen over sake.

Ichigo scowled deeper than usual and ran a hand through his unruly orange hair.

Damn. He really hoped that this would have been one of the shop's quieter nights.

But now, his reiatsu had been easily spotted, prompting several of his closer friends to spill out into the evening air to greet him.

"Yo, Ichigo!" Renji hollered, clapping him on the back good-naturedly. "You got that Hollow, huh? Nice!"

"Renji. Yeah. Taken care of."

The big redhead dug an elbow into his rib, jarring Ichigo off his center of balance. "It took you so long though! Bet me and Chad could have finished him off in under a minute. Oy, Chado, dontcha think we coulda gotten that Hollow?" Renji yelled over his shoulder at the quiet man standing awkwardly by the shop's entrance.

Chad shrugged noncommittally as Ichigo rubbed his sore rib. "Jeez, pipe down, Renji. Everyone knows you could never match up to me, even if Chado was taking all the heat for you." Ichigo smirked.

Renji laughed good naturedly before mock-wrestling Ichigo to the ground. "You? Ha! No way your scrawny-ass could ever beat me!"

"Oh, really…? What about that time in the Soul So-"

"Don't get cocky, brat! That was just a one-time thing. Plus, I totally let you win!"

Ichigo would have laughed derisively if he hadn't been in a chokehold. Luckily, Rukia saved him the disgrace of being unable to retort due to lack of breath when she jumped into the fray. In all honesty, she wasn't nearly as physically strong as the two of them. She just fought dirty, as evidenced by the fact that both of them backed away from her almost instantly, hands floating conspicuously over their delicate nether regions.

"So, you two are still idiots, I see," she gloated, her round face and large, dark eyes gleaming as if she'd just won a major battle through skill alone. "Especially when you're together." She smirked, as if she'd just said something amazingly funny.

Ichigo and Renji shot each other a look, completely nonplussed.

"Well, anyways, you missed all the fun, Ichigo! Soi Fon was literally about to kick Urahara's ass! It was really intense; I thought Urahara was going to run away screaming. But then Yoruichi showed up and called her off, and dragged Soi Fon away to do… whatever those two do together." Rukia looked fairly excited by this, although somewhat disapproving. It was difficult for Ichigo to tell if Rukia disapproved of Soi Fon's bullying of the shopkeeper, or of Yoruichi breaking up what looked to be an interesting fight. Or, perhaps, of Yoruichi and Soi Fon's mysterious relationship.

Renji gave her a look. "You don't have to be all secretive about it, Rukia. Everyone knows they're together." He turned to Ichigo as if that topic was closed, a well-known fact not worthy of conversation. "Besides, I think we all know that Soi Fon would have gotten her ass handed to her. I'm almost positive that Urahara is a secret genius."

Ichigo agreed; after all, the man was more or less Ichigo's first mentor. However, he really couldn't have cared less about whatever drama he'd missed out on. The whole purpose of showing up here, as much as he loved hanging out with his friends, was to avoid unnecessary drama altogether.

"Ummm, yeah, well, I was just going to go home… I thought I'd stop by and say hey…"

Before he could finish, he was assaulted by a rather shiny-headed bald man and a slender man with strange eyelashes and of questionable gender orientation. "No way, dude. We are having a tournament. Downstairs in ten minutes. You have to be there. You and I haven't fought properly since the first time we met, and I am not letting you get off this time! Nooooo 'buts'!" Ikkaku hollered menacingly as Ichigo tried to protest. "It wouldn't be the same without you there! Yumichika, you agree?"

Yumichika fussed with his hair and murmured something about the whole thing being beautiful. Ichigo didn't listen too close; honestly, that guy weirded him out.

He tried to protest again, but was overcome by a slew of people encouraging, bullying, and whining to him. When Kenpachi decided to show his ugly face and threatened to follow Ichigo home if he didn't consent to this winner-takes-all tournament, Ichigo gave up on his idea of a peaceful evening and followed his favorite people down into the basement of the shop. At least, if he didn't get to be alone with his own thoughts, he was hanging out with a few of his best friends.

* * *

A few hours later, Ichigo lay quietly on the sandy ground of the cavernous basement. What had started off as a fun-sounding event where everyone took turns and the loser steps out to be replaced by another candidate rapidly devolved into an all-out brawl between two dozen or so shinigami. Luckily, no one whipped out their bankai; nevertheless, there were a lot of injuries incurred, and Kenpachi seemed to have had himself a hell of a good time.

Ichigo knew he should have enjoyed his night: A good way to release tension, a good way to connect with friends that were embroiled in this same repetitive lifestyle. Mostly, Ichigo was just overjoyed when he'd snagged a moment, several hours into the whole debacle, where no one was fighting him directly, and he could sneak off to hide in the shadow of a rock overhang, sitting innocently out of the way of all that fighting. Eventually, everyone either got too tired and quit, or had been knocked out and now lay sprawled on the ground. Either way, he was pretty sure he was alone at the moment. Now, all he had to do was wait until the thumping noises from upstairs subsided, signaling that his compatriots had all left or fallen asleep wherever they found an open spot on the floor. It could be a while… Urahara made sure to always have a rather large supply of sake sitting around.

Whatever.

This was nice, sitting here alone. Peaceful. A good end to just another uncomfortably routine day.

Ichigo fidgeted. He didn't know why he felt so compelled to… to do something, lately. He didn't know what. Something. Anything. As if this whole world… his whole life… was just…

Not cutting it anymore. Yeah, the war wasn't technically over yet. And yeah, he had great friends and a great family. People who cared about him. Wanted him around. And they were all alive and well, in large part thanks to his efforts.

Well, mostly. Something was up with Orihime. And as much as Ichigo prided himself on his strength to protect his friends, that one was out of his league.

He decided not to think about that anymore. What the hell was he supposed to do about any of that, anyway?

He closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. Pretending that his whole life didn't feel… off, somehow.

He was awoken a few hours later to a none-too-gentle prod on his temple. He grimaced-when had he fallen asleep?- and opened his eyes to stare up into the leering visage of Sandal-Hat. Ichigo's heart gave a sudden lurch; nothing visible to the naked eye; before he woke a bit more and realized exactly whose cane was poking him in the forehead.

"While I'm honored that you've chosen my humble shop as your sleeping quarters, I'm sure we can find you more comfortable accommodation, Kurosaki-kun."

Ichigo groaned and batted the heavy cane aside. "I didn't mean to fall asleep here."

"And yet here you are!" Urahara's voice always sounded a bit too high-pitched, as if he was mocking whomever he was speaking with, privy to some innocent, inside joke between the shopkeeper and… well, himself. Ichigo had far too much to be grateful for to the secretive man to judge him too harshly, but as much as he would have trusted Urahara almost above any of his friends from the Soul Society… There was a part of him that knew better. Whatever that inside joke was, it wasn't innocent. It probably was something to be fucking terrified of.

But Ichigo had always made it a point to believe the best about those within his close circle. Regardless of his gut feeling, the man had never given his protégé reason to doubt him, and Ichigo was not about to make enemies of people who had helped him so much in the past.

Well, with the exception of that whole "setting-Rukia-up" thing.

Or making Ichigo into a Vaizard.

But technically, there was no way for Urahara to have known that would happen, right? It was just sort of… a fluke.

Ichigo realized that his mentor was still smiling creepily down upon him, the brim of his oddly striped hat masking the upper part of his face in shadow.

Whatever. If Ichigo wanted to be paranoid, he'd have way too many people to be mistrustful of. Half of his current friends had tried to kill him at one point or another. It was really too complicated to go around trying to accuse people of, well, of being shady.

So he pushed his reactions out of his mind and slowly rolled up into a sitting position.

"I should get home," he muttered, twisting around, working out the stiffness that came from sleeping on uneven ground. "I've got plans for tomorrow with my family."

This wasn't exactly true, but he hoped word would spread around so that the others left him alone. He was a bit too out-of-sorts to enjoy anyone's company lately.

"Kurosaki-kun, it would be a waste of time traveling back across town. You may as well stay the night, and save precious energy for your family tomorrow."

"I'm reasonably sure that there's not an empty spot anywhere upstairs to unfold a mattress, with all the others who've camped out here lately."

"Ahhhh, that is true. Luckily, I have a bed that sleeps two," the shopkeeper's grin was a mixture of inviting and terrifying in that instant. Ichigo wished he could see the other man's eyes, but they were still hidden under that hat.

He thought of refusing. Sleeping in the older man's bed… That was weird, wasn't it? And Ichigo was fairly certain, given Urahara's pervy nature, that the man wasn't extending the offer purely out of kindness.

But, it wasn't as if Ichigo had never thought about it. He liked men as much as women. Maybe more, if he was honest with himself. He'd hooked up with Uryuu a few times, before both of them realized that chemistry was pretty damn important in a sexual relationship, and they had zero. He blushed, remembering the times in the past when he'd been jerking himself off, while random faces flashed through his consciousness. Sandal-Hat had definitely been one of them.

Then again, LOTS of different faces and… other body parts liked to make regular appearances in his fantasies, and there were a decent number of people who were simply outside the range of possibility. Specifically, those individuals whose body parts had oddly-placed holes in them.

But he was tired. And he didn't particularly want to go all the way home tonight. Besides, he was feeling a little reckless.

While he was still foggily contemplating his options, the shopkeeper kneeled down and placed one unsettlingly strong arm along his ribcage and the other around his waist. Without asking, while Ichigo stared up at his mentor in surprise, Urahara lifted Ichigo smoothly to his feet, and-never removing his hands-steered him toward the exit and up the stairs.

"I think you'd be more comfortable here, Kurosaki-kun," he hummed into Ichigo's ear invitingly.

Ichigo's body flushed hot, half-embarrassed, half-aroused. The older man's chest was pressed into his left side, creating a breathtaking amount of intimacy in their current position. The man's voice had noticeably lowered an octave, dropping that insincerity which usually hinged it, and Ichigo was glad he had only woken up moments before. It gave him a decent enough excuse to remain silent, neutral on the whole incident. Better to not say anything than to say something stupid and ruin the moment.

Did he really want this? The ache in his groin answered decidedly "Yes", and he couldn't stop obscene image from flashing through his brain as the blonde steered them both quietly through the dark, deserted halls of the shop, still wrapped tightly around Ichigo's torso. A few figures lay sprawled, half-sitting against the walls of the hallway, and the substitute shinigami felt thrilled by the knowledge that if they were too loud, someone would wake and catch them. It wasn't something he really wanted, for this situation to have to be explained to anyone, but he was excited by the idea nonetheless. It wasn't as if they were technically doing anything, anyway.

As he was still thinking this, he stumbled a bit. Barely tightening his grip, the shopkeeper was able to avoid a real fall. Embarrassed, Ichigo realized he hadn't tripped over anything but his own feet, and was startled to hear the sound of someone's interrupted snore ring out through the hall. Shit! On instinct, he tried to struggle out of Urahara's grasp, but the older man refused to let go, whispering seductively against the younger man's ear, "Careful, Kurosaki-kun. You don't want to wake your friends… Do you?" Ichigo paused, blood shooting straight down to his member. He could swear he'd felt Urahara's lips brush against the sensitive hairs on the back of his neck.

He stifled whatever audible affirmation his brain seemed desperate to release, affirmation more of the unspoken promise behind the shopkeeper's words than of the actual question itself. God, Sandal-Hat had better follow through on this…

* * *

_This chapter and the previous one were originally together as one very long chapter, but long chapters don't seem to work for a lot of other sites, or other readers, so I'm breaking them up. Also, new chapters will not usually come neeeearly this fast, so... feel spoiled! Please feel free to get back to me with constructive criticism; I love writing, and am always up for hearing how I can improve the quality of my work._


	3. Chapter 3

Las Noches sucked lately.

Basically, it was just complete pandemonium; no one knew where the fuck Aizen was, and all the high-level Arrancar were just milling about aimlessly, picking fights with each other over nothing in particular. Which was to be expected: Aizen's presence had pretty much been the only thing keeping the chaos at bay. But now even filthy little Adjuchas were squirming through the place, feeding off the free-flying reiatsu of their stronger counterparts.

And while Grimmjow loved destruction and violence as much as the next guy, even he was beginning to get bored.

Killing the average Hollow no longer held the appeal that it once had. He couldn't get stronger by eating them, of course; that time had long since faded away. And while a good fight was pretty much what he lived for, the prospects had kinda dimmed as of late. There just weren't that many people here stronger than him.

Yammy… the old man… Halibel… apparently Nnoitra was dead, and Stark just wouldn't get up off his ass to do anything. Grimmjow couldn't even muster the energy to try provoking that guy; he'd probably just roll over and go back to sleep. Because for a battle to be good, he needed an opponent who responded in kind, who threw their very essence into it. Or at least, wasn't going to hold back on you.

Where the fuck was Ulquiorra when you needed him?

Grimmjow huffed in annoyance as he sat perched atop one of those completely useless red towers under Aizen's mock-shinigami sky. His head lolled lazily in his hand as he stared down at the worthless little Hollows scampering around far below. God, he was so bored.

He grit his teeth in anger; Gin had forbidden him and all the other Arrancar from going to the human world. And while Gin wasn't exactly someone Grimmjow particularly gave two shits about, he'd had to admit the creeper had a point: If he went running off to the human world again without orders, he'd better hope he died there, 'cause Aizen would probably flay the flesh off his bones. Of course, that was considering the likelihood that he'd come back at all.

Grimmjow's recent brush with death had helped to dissuade him from putting himself in a similar situation again so soon… but his interest in self-preservation was starting to wear off now.

This whole thing was retarded! Waiting around with their thumbs up their asses for a leader who very well may never come back… Meanwhile, there was absolutely no one interesting to pass the time with. He really missed his Fraccion right about now.

And where in the ever-living fuck was Ulquiorra?!

He let his head loll onto his other hand.

Sure, he hated Ulquiorra. Who didn't? He probably hated Ulquiorra more than he'd ever hated anyone else, ever. Next to Aizen and his stupid shinigami. But that was the point! His favorite pastime had undoubtedly been following the ice queen around Las Noches for hours, waiting for Ulquiorra's legendary calm to shatter. Or, as was more often the case, Grimmjow's patience would crack first, and he'd pounce the minute he knew the fucker wasn't on guard… only to backpedal and get the hell outta there the minute Ulquiorra sensed him. Because, in all honesty, no one scared the shit out of him like Ulquiorra, and the whole thing gave Grimmjow a sick thrill that he just couldn't duplicate with anyone else.

But they said Ulquiorra was dead now. Kurosaki'd killed him. Grimmjow inwardly scoffed at the thought of anyone taking Ulquiorra down… except himself, of course. But in an odd way, that fact gave Grimmjow a sort of satisfaction with how the whole affair had ended. If anyone was gonna kill either of his two favorite opponents, at least it had been the other. Not fucking Nnoitra or some other little twat.

But fuuuuuuckkkkkk, he was bored.

So… plan B. Much less satisfying or productive than plan A (an all-out, balls-to-the-wall battle for survival). Plan B simply involved finding people weaker than he was to unleash his playful sadistic streak on.

He dropped his hand and bent over the edge to get a better look at the Hollows wandering around below, his pupils narrowing in anticipation. Adjuchas. About fifty or so duking it out on the sandy floor. Their pathetic attempts at dominating each other echoed around the huge indoor cavern. He licked his lips and grinned; it was a look that drew in many a hapless victim and yet simultaneously spoke of imminent danger. He reined in his reiatsu. It would be more fun if they thought he was Fraccion or something. They'd probably charge him, caught up in their own hunger and bloodlust. And he'd let them. Let them think they had the upper hand until the last possible second… And then, he'd get to watch their reactions, feel their fear as they realized just what they'd gotten themselves into. He'd cut down a few, let the rest run, allow their panic to overwhelm them, hear their squeals and shrieks as he chased them slowly.

Then, he'd tear them all to pieces.

He stood up, laughing to himself at the prospect of his sport, leaned over the edge of the tower, and dove.

* * *

It was dark in Urahara's bedroom- the sun hadn't started to rise yet, and he'd neglected to turn on a light. Which, with all they'd just been doing, was completely fine with Ichigo.

The shopkeeper lay against him, his head buried in the crook of Ichigo's neck and his arms and legs utterly limp, like dead weight and just as quiet. Only the whisper of his slow breathing-in, out, in, out- let him know that the shopkeeper was still even alive.

"Urahara…?" Had he… fallen asleep?

Ichigo began shifting, which was hard to do even for him because the shopkeeper was freaking heavy; trying to push the man off him, maybe get a glimpse at his face. Fuck, it was too dark to see anyway. The shopkeeper gave no resistance, didn't even move, and Ichigo was pretty damn sure he'd fallen asleep.

"Where's the fucking light-switch?" Ichigo growled to himself. He reached an arm out from where he was still firmly pinned to the mattress to see if he could feel out a lamp or night-stand or something.

At that, however, Urahara moved, and the movement was so sudden Ichigo jolted a little with surprise.

The shopkeeper pushed back off of the boy, up onto his knees. A finger snap and a dim lamp switched on, barely enough to see by. Ichigo couldn't see the other man's eyes, even with his hat off; uneven bangs covered whatever could have been visible in this light, but Ichigo got the feeling his mentor was staring at him. He blushed hotly; he was still naked.

Shit. Hope he was enjoying the show.

But Urahara just sat there, mute, breathing heavily as if he'd run a marathon. Ichigo had no idea what he was thinking. Maybe the man thought this was a mistake.

When Urahara finally spoke, it was quiet, anti-climactic, full of a seriousness that didn't fit the situation or the man.

"Do you trust me, Kurosaki-kun?"

"Uhh," and Ichigo's brain was still only working halfway. "What do you mean? I mean, yes, yes. I think so."

A pause. "You think so?" His voice wasn't accusatory; it didn't even have that chiding lilt the shopkeeper used when he was screwing with someone.

Mostly, Urahara sounded uncharacteristically sad.

Ichigo gulped, tried to push back the exhaustion and embarrassment, tried to think. Did he mean right now? During… After… That was probably what he meant, it couldn't mean anything else at this point. Well the answer should be pretty freaking obvious!

"Yes, of course, of course, I trust you," he said.

Urahara lifted his head. And Ichigo hadn't seen his mentor often without the green-and-white striped hat. It was like a trademark: Something that defined the man. But without it, Ichigo realized as he stared up at him, Urahara looked younger than Ichigo expected. Not like the mysterious, wily shopkeeper who'd taught him so much and warned him against being rash, or acted like a pervy old man toward everyone who set foot in the shop. He looked forlorn. He seemed vulnerable.

He looked lost.

"Truly?"

Ichigo pushed himself up, tried not to appear so passive and undecided and stared up into what little he could see of the shopkeeper's eyes. It was too dark in here and the whole situation was getting overly serious, and something inside Ichigo's chest tightened. He couldn't quite pinpoint what emotion this whole thing made him feel, though. "Yes," he affirmed, with a gentleness that surprised him. "I trust you."

Urahara shook his head and smiled, glancing up to meet his pupil's eyes. "Have you ever thought that perhaps you shouldn't?" the man murmured.

Ichigo scowled. This was getting ridiculous.

"Yes. It's occurred to me." The boy lay back down on the bed, still scowling reproachfully at his mentor. "Too late to worry about that now."

Kisuke broke into a smile at first. Then he began to laugh, a genuine, happy laugh, which made Ichigo's brow knit even further in anger. Was he being mocked?

Kisuke was still chuckling pleasantly to himself as he moved to sit next to where the younger man was laid out, back to the wall. Ichigo was pissed and blushing, and he moved with every intention to get up and dress before storming out without another word. But the shopkeeper grabbed him firmly by the hips and pulled him back until Ichigo was lying flush against him, back to front, pleasantly surprised but still fuming.

Urahara was still smirking. "Yes, Kurosaki-kun, you're right about that," he whispered, and before Ichigo had time to bash his mentor over the head for being a confounding jackass, Urahara had settled them both into an intimate, comforting embrace.  
Ichigo decided to forget why he'd been mad. For now.

His mind still swirling, unable to focus in the best way, he reclined against the shopkeeper. Urahara shifted them so that they were lying flat on the mattress. One snap of a finger and the room was dark again, and a thin blanket was pulled over their entwined forms. Ichigo was amazingly comfortable, as he gave in to the comforting heat of the embrace, cozying up into the welcoming crooks of the older man's body.

Had this been a bad decision? Would Ichigo wake tomorrow and rethink this whole ridiculous scenario- sleeping with one's teacher definitely didn't seem like the smartest idea. Especially when that same teacher was asking stupid questions about being too trusting and whatnot.

But Ichigo was sick of thinking. Really sick of it.

So he sighed, releasing all those pent-up second guesses. He burrowed in to make himself more comfortable, and promptly passed the fuck out.

Kisuke lay quiet and still, listening to Ichigo's muted snores and absentmindedly running a hand through that endearing, odd mop of orange hair. Feeling the weight of the boy's body on top of his own.

For a very long time, Kisuke didn't move a muscle, afraid that he would wake the him. His mind churned with lingering doubts which he could not rectify.

Was it too late to turn back now? Did he want to?

Did he even have a choice anymore?

The sun had just made it over the horizon when Kisuke glanced down to look at Ichigo's slumbering visage. The boy was trusting in sleep, the trademark frown gone; that wrinkled brow was smoothed over, giving him an almost childlike appearance which countered the overdeveloped body. He looked so young. So young, and yet he'd already been through so much. And there would undoubtedly be more to come. Nothing Kisuke could do at this point could change any of that.

The boy's hip was digging into his thigh, so Kisuke ever-so-gently changed position, a hand resting on the younger man's head to keep him steady. Ichigo's snores were interrupted, but he gave no sign of waking.

"I won't be here when you wake up," Kisuke leaned down and whispered into Ichigo's ear, softly. "But I just want you to know," the shopkeeper continued, but paused for a long moment before he finished the thought. Smirking self-deprecatingly, he amended, "You're really heavy."

* * *

It was oddly hot, which was the first thing Ichigo noticed as he slowly reentered the world of the waking. Perhaps that was because he'd secluded himself head-to-toe under the covers, hiding away from the obnoxious glare of late morning sunlight. He didn't know what time it was: could've been early, or late, and the feeling was unusual, disorienting him even more.

Really, he wanted to go back to sleep, but he had that nagging feeling that he was late for something, or perhaps had forgotten something, and no matter how soft the sheets were or how nicely the bedcovers molded comfortably around his body, he couldn't seem to let go of the feeling that something was just not right.

When he opened his eyes, Ichigo's feelings were confirmed, because the wooden ceiling didn't exactly remind him of his bedroom. For a person who never slept outside his own home (unless he desperately needed a few minutes of shut-eye while entrenched in enemy territory), this was not a pleasant realization to awaken to. But the panic lasted only for an instant, and the affairs of last night- all of them, all very detailed remembrances- crashed back, making Ichigo instantly aware that he was sleeping in Urahara Kisuke's bed. Because the shopkeeper had teased him, and then…

Oh. Wow.

The next thing he noticed was that Sandal-Hat was decidedly not here. For some reason, Ichigo did a double take of the bed, as if he expected the trickster shopkeeper to magically appear at second glance.

But no, no crafty, smirking striped-hatted man was sitting there, grinning up at Ichigo in that mocking, cocky manner he had down so well. That, Ichigo was expecting. Maybe even hoping...

Well, really, Ichigo didn't know what he was expecting. Because he'd just hooked up with his extremely unpredictable, oddball mentor. And now all bets were off.

The substitute shinigami wouldn't be surprised if the blonde man pretended it never happened, or instead burst into the bedroom with a heaping plate of breakfast and demanded that they go steady. There was absolutely no telling with that guy.

Oh God. What if he'd told everyone in the shop? Ichigo had to take an unusually large gulp of air as he pondered this latest development.

Later, Ichigo would realize that his mentor was a man of many secrets, not likely to go spilling the details of his personal sex life to others, but this thought didn't cross Ichigo's mind at that particular moment. Instead, his next horrifying idea consisted of having to walk out that door and into the milieu of boisterous, tactless shinigami who acted like the shop was their second home.

Oh, shit. That wasn't going to be pleasant. Ichigo simultaneously noticed that he was very much naked, and instantly bolted out of bed to collect his wayward articles of clothing at the exact moment that Tessai opened the door.

Ichigo blinked.

Tessai blinked back at him.

A million rote excuses flashed through Ichigo's brain, foremost being, "This isn't what it looks like." Which was, of course, weak, because he wasn't sure what exactly this did look like, but it was the best excuse of the bunch. Also, this was very much exactly what it looked like.

Luckily Tessai saved him from having to speak. "Urahara-dono wanted me to tell you that he had to go run an errand in Soul Society, and he's not sure when he'll be back, but you may stay here for as long as you'd like." Ichigo blinked again. "Also, he suggested that if you'd like to avoid interacting with the gossip-mongers downstairs, it might be best to use the window for a hasty retreat."

"Um. Thanks?" Was it weird that Tessai had referred to his guests as "gossip-mongers"?

Tessai went to leave, and Ichigo breathed a sigh of relief, but Tessai seemed to think again and then turned around quickly, leaving Ichigo to dodge for a scrap of clothing to cover his nudity. "But if you decide to stay, there is a delicious late breakfast downstairs that I personally made myself." He stared pointedly down the bridge of his nose at Ichigo, daring him to refuse.

"Uh, right."

Tessai nodded succinctly, and closed the door softly.

Ichigo's scowl was back. He glared at his shinigami garb as he donned it, trying to make sense of what exactly the shopkeeper wanted him to do versus what Ichigo actually felt like doing. Which didn't actually help, because Ichigo didn't have a clue what he wanted to do now.

Fucking hell.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

This is an example of a chapter edited for explicit content. I had to move some stuff around to make it make sense, but if there are any glaring errors where it just doesn't make sense, just let me know! I hope you're all enjoying this so far!


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